


I'll be the bright, in black (that's making you cum)

by BatsAreFluffy



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: "Catch a cold", Clark is done with Bruce's shit, Dirty Talk, M/M, Massages, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Prompt Fic, Valentines Secret Exchange - Superbat, mild bondage, really Bruce just won't stay put, self medication via bartending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29388837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatsAreFluffy/pseuds/BatsAreFluffy
Summary: Clark would be lying if he said that the back rub was strictly for healing purposes. He’d wanted to seduce Bruce with wine and dark chocolate truffles from Ireland. He’d planned on being inside that glorious body well before midnight. Heck, even several times before midnight. Bruce, however, had gone out, again, with a fever. He’d gone out, in February, in a wet suit and horrible weather, already sick.Or: Vicks Vapor Rub is a bit of a turn on for country boys
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30
Collections: Batsupes Secret Valentines Exchange 2021





	I'll be the bright, in black (that's making you cum)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tentochi_0102](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentochi_0102/gifts).



> For the BatSupes Secret Valentine!  
> For lovelastart.  
> I'm really hoping that this fits your tastes of pwp, porn with feelings. with a bit of fluff, and a happy ending. 
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day! :)

_I'll be your light, your match, your burning sun,_

_I'll be the bright, in black that's makin' you run._

_~One Republic, Love runs Out_

Clark stifled a sigh as he walked into the small seating area in the cave. Bruce, cheeks flushed and eyes shining with a moderate fever, was laying crosswise on sofa. He was dressed half in the undersuit of the armour, with a Gotham University hoodie pulled over his chest. By every indication, Bruce had not moved much for the last 12 hours, since he had come back from a case the night before. Then, he had been finishing his report, sneezing every line, but determined to finish the damn thing. Clark had tossed his hands in the air, metaphorically, and left for work.

Now, Bruce was watching his boyfriend walk into the room with the strangest smile Clark had ever seen. He was also hanging upside from the sofa.

“New way to clear your sinuses?” Clark asked, putting his coat over the nearest chair.

“Ish great for stufted heads,” Bruce slurred, grinning.

“Really?”

Bruce tried to nod, and slipped closer to the floor. “Alfred said so.”

Clark took his glasses off, pulling his tie off as well. “Hanging upside down from a crappy sofa is what Alfred told you to do?” He was a bit skeptical, to say the least.

Bruce frowned, turning his head sideways. “Wher’ya flying to the floor?”

“You’re the one flying,” Clark muttered, walking over to side table that held a tray with half a dozen bottles on it. “What all did you dose yourself with?”

Bruce’s head tried to follow him. “Only took the purp-purple stuff. Alfred made me. Drink the whole thing, he said.” Another shrug and a huff. “He’s not nice with medi-sinners,” he finished, frowning.

Clark reacted to this news with a sigh and a pillow tossed under the drunk man’s head. He flipped bottles around to read labels. “None of these are purple, Bruce.”

Bruce slipped the rest of the way to the floor. The pillow cushioned his fall, but not any of his pride. “No, it was purple,” he muttered, face down on the floor. “Kicked.”

Clark checked to make sure that Bruce’s neck wasn’t bent wrong. It all seemed fine, so he went back to his search. Several glasses with rims of water and orange juice were stacked precariously on the table. He sniffed a few. Water, water, wine, he sorted, and stopped on the last tumbler. Whiskey, Rum and Bourbon set his nose on fire: he added the lemon and orange juice mixture, with a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg, and Clark knew what had happened.

“You are sloshed.”

Bruce laughed, almost giggling. “Sloshed in a bucket.”

Clark put the tumbler back on the tray, and walked over. Bruce was craning his neck to see Clark. He was a mess. His hair was mussed, and the 5 o’clock shadow was thick.

“What?”

Bruce smiled, tilting his head in playboy mode. “Sloshed, my good man. Toddy Up and get ready.”

Clark frowned. “Does Alfred know you’ve been playing bartender?”

“He mixed, I stirred. Why are you so tall? Do you get taller under the sun?”

“Bruce, how many did you have?”

“Pft.”

“You know, as much fun as Cat seems to think you are when drunk, I’d much rather have a sober Bruce to take back upstairs. Shower,” he ordered, reaching for Bruce’s hand.

“Bite me.”

Clark had a double take. “Excuse me?”

“I’m perfushional fine. This cold will be gone tomorrow. Have a bored meeting. Why’d they call it boring meeting? No one will come. It should be called shomethin else.” Bruce curled tighter into himself on the floor.

Clark shook his head, sighing. “You turn into a child when you’re sick, you know that right? An absolute child.”

* * *

The shower in the cave hadn’t changed much, except there was a privacy door that could be slid across the opening now. Clark tossed a dry towel over the top and pushed the grumpy bat inside. He grabbed a few different bottles from the ledge outside and stepped in behind him. With a quick tug, the door slid shut.

“I can washing myself, Clark,” Bruce slurred. Despite his claim, he was leaning into the corner, looking ready to sleep.

“Uh-huh.” The shower began, quickly heating up. The cubicle was soon a foggy haven. Clark pulled the sloshed man away from the wall, and held him close. “Showers mean getting wet and soapy, B.”

“It’s cold.”

Clark shook his head. “You’re sick, you idiot. It’s going to be everything from hot to cold, to red to blue in your body.”

Bruce spluttered as more water poured down his face, but he stayed leaning against Clark for the entire shower.

* * *

A wet Bat was a grumpy Bat. Clark wanted to have his Ma make a pillow with that stitched on it, but he figured the grumpy bat in question would probably burn it. “You look more alive now,” he said, smiling at his boyfriend’s scowl. “And it cleared your sinuses, didn’t it?”

“I preferred the toddy,” Bruce muttered, drying his hair.

“I know, but you needed to get cleaned up. I could have just dropped you into the lake run off instead.” Clark smiled sweetly, even as Bruce muttered some choice words in Arabic and Greek. He ignored the muttered threats, and pulled on soft sweats and warm socks. Bruce was slowly getting dressed in the same, fighting slightly with the armholes. He needed to lie down, Clark thought. Lay down, and maybe ...

“Hey, you have Vicks around? I could rub your back with it.”

Bruce made a face.

“What? The stuff works.”

Bruce pulled his sweater the rest of the way on. “Rubbing grease on your feet doesn’t help anything, Kent.”

Clark laughed, and began herding Bruce towards the stairs. “That’s pretty old fashioned, but even Pa knew better than to do that. But it helps your lungs, makes you feel a lot better.”

Bruce shook his head. “I wouldn’t know.” Bruce was already a little breathless from the walk back up from the cave. He’d never admit it, but the energy he’d gotten from the hot shower was dwindling fast. He was not, however, going to let Kal carry him. He might be sick, but he still had some pride.

Pride, of course, only got him half way down the hall before Clark turned on him. “Seriously, Bruce?”

“I’m fine,” he rasped, leaning against the banister.

Clark huffed a laugh. “You are not fine.”

Bruce would have replied scathingly, had a massive sneeze not exploded out of him.

“Yeah, sounds great to me.”

Bruce glared from behind watering eyes.

Clark slid an arm around his shoulders, and scooped him up. “No one else is home, B. Let me do this much,” he asked.

Bruce slowly melted against the warmth of his lover. He nodded, even as Clark lifted slightly off the ground and started to float down the hall. The Kryptonian had an unfair advantage. He was as warm as a fresh duvet from the dryer. As much as he might complain aloud, Bruce’s sore muscles needed that extra warmth.

Clark pushed Bruce back against the pillows. "Just lay down, will you?"

Bruce pouted, but sank slowly onto his stomach against the mounds of pillows. He turned his head to the side, staring at Clark with glazed eyes. "You don't have to do this," he murmured, suddenly quiet. "I can just down a few more Benadryl and sleep it off."

There was a blur of motion, and then the smell of menthol drifted across the room. "It's Valentine's Day, Bruce. I want to be with the person I love."

"Even if I can't breath?"

"Even if you can't breathe. Besides, this stuff'ell help. I still can't believe you've never been slathered in Vicks before." Clark took a decent sized scoop and rubbed it over his hands a little. "Fair warning - it's a bit cold at first."

The muttered, "I'm sure I can take it" was broken off by a sharp intake of breath.

"Told ya." Clark painted another glob onto the broad shoulders. "It warms up fast." He dropped one more glob on the goose bumping flesh before putting the jar on the night table. "Alright," he murmured, and floated over Bruce's outstretched legs. "I'm going to rub it in a bit, is that ok?"

Bruce's muffled yes ended with a smothered cough.

Clark started at the thick corded neck, working slow circles around the jutting bone. Slipping greased fingers into the nape of his neck, Clark followed the curving muscles. He slid back down them, feeling the tension shift downwards with the warmth coming from the cream. He settled himself on the bed, kneeling on the back of Bruce's thighs. The broad back was laid out before him. With strong hands, he began working the warmth into his shoulders, tracing over scars and lines as he went. A passing thought of 'colour inside the lines, dear,' went through his head. With a huff of laughter, he pushed harder on the blades.

"What's s'funny?" came the slurred question.

"It's like finger painting on a giant, B." Clark smiled, remembering. "I once got in heaps of trouble for finger painting." He swept the upper back in broad, hard strokes.

"Why'd trouble?"

"It might have been that I picked Uncle Rodney's new truck." Clark laughed softly. "Or that I used house paint to do it. Don't really remember that part."

Bruce huffed a laugh, but then let out a gasp as Clarks fingers started down his spine.

Clark repeated the strokes, moving slowly down the knobbed line. After three vertebrae, Bruce was squirming under his thighs. Clark settled more of his weight down on the billionaire, rubbing harder on the next few.

"Clark," Bruce gasped out, panting. "Fuck, that feels so good."

"Yeah?" Clark smiled.

"Right there - yes," he hissed, arching off the pillows. His hips stuttered, pressing into the bedding.

Clark continued his massage, rubbing deeply into the flesh. He swiped a bit of excess gel back up the wrinkled skin. Even over some of the burns, Bruce was still so sensitive to touch. The muscles rippled under his hands, tensing as he tried to shift on the bed. Bruce was trapped where he was, but by the groans coming from him now, he might not remember that. Or care.

Bruce moaned at Clark's pause. "Clark," he whined, shifting on the bed.

"Just getting a bit more," Clark soothed. "Don't want any chaffing."

Bruce huffed a laugh, gasping at the shock of cold. "Damn that stuff is cold," he complained, rising up on his elbows.

Clark smiled, putting his hand on the space between Bruce's shoulders. "Lay down," he said, pushing hard against the stubborn human. Bruce pushed back for a moment. "Down, Bruce," he commanded.

Bruce collapsed back down, his hips beginning to rut into the bedding. "Please," he begged.

Clark shifted, pinning the human's legs again. The firm buttocks in front of him tensed, twitching with micro thrusts, trying to get any friction.

Clark would be lying if he said that the back rub was strictly for healing purposes. He’d wanted to seduce Bruce with wine and dark chocolate truffles from Ireland. He’d planned on being inside that glorious body well before midnight. Heck, even several times before midnight. Bruce, however, had gone out, again, with a fever. He’d gone out, in February, in a wet suit and horrible weather, already sick. And Clark knew he’d do it again, to save people. It was why he loved this man so much.

Clark leaned forward, covering the writhing man with his chest. Hands on either side of his head, Bruce bucked up against him, a nasal whine trapped in his mouth.

"You are so beautiful like this," Clark breathed in his ear. The flush from the cold was blotching nicely with the flush of embarrassed arousal. "You are, all slick and writhing underneath me, I will never tire of this masterpiece beneath me."

"Hrg!"

Clark pushed his hips down against Bruce's, trapping him. Again. "Such a marvelous masterpiece, ready for devouring."

Bruce moaned, hiding his face in his arms. He still hated that praise got him so riled up. Clark took every opportunity to layer it on his lover. And when he couldn’t get away, Clark took full advantage.

“Please, Clark, let me roll over.” He blushed into the pillow – it had been too long since he’d had to beg Clark for anything. It was doing things to his head he wasn’t sure he’d not be embarrassed about in the morning. But right now – “Please, I need you. Need to touch—“

“Nope,” Clark said, popping the p sound. “You can roll over, but no touching. I’m supposed to be making you feel better. No work for you, Mister Hands On.”

Bruce nodded mutely.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Fine, Clark, fine, just please – let me up. Clark!” he moaned as the floating alien pressed his cloth covered erection against the crack of Bruce’s ass.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Clark warned, smiling, he floated just high enough for Bruce to roll over. The human nearly reached super speed with his twist, lunging up to catch Clark’s mouth. His erection, now freed from two men’s weight, swiftly bobbed up to meet Clark’s thigh. His boyfriend tsked and floated just out of reach.

Bruce collapsed back onto the pillows, a rough cough breaking out of his chest. “Clark,” Bruce moaned. “Please,” he added, before trying again, abs clenching as he rose up and grabbed at Clark’s shirt.

Clark shook his head sadly. “Now, what did I say?” he asked softly. He pushed both of the human’s arms down onto the bed. A blink, and they were both tethered to the bedposts, the brilliant red of the superman cape shining against the black sheets. “No touching, B. You’re really not up to it. Just lay there, and I’ll start your chest, alright?”

Bruce pulled at the cape’s ends. Clark had to admire the bulge in his lover’s arm muscles was a beautiful sight. But it was even more beautiful to see them loosen, relax back against the fine bed beneath him.

Slipping down his thighs, Clark settled just a bit below the purpling erection. He scooped up the next round of cream, warming it quickly. “Good, very good. Just relax and let me look at you, look at that beautiful masterpiece.”

Bruce shook his head, trying to hide in his bicep. Clark let him, rubbing the clean-shaven chest with firm strokes. He continued, tracing one pectoral. “I’ve always wondered, do you wear something to hide these gorgeous nipples when you are Brucie? The way they stiffen from just a breath – yes, just like that. People must think you’re rock hard under that suit all day.”

Bruce thrust his chest into Clark’s hands as much as he could, gasping as they massaged the cream into the hard flesh. He loved having his nipples fondled, love the feel of teeth or nails or anything on the tips. “Please, yes, Clark,” he gasped around another cough.

“Or do you let people see them, just so they know that you’re just that much of a slut.” Clark continued. His fingers pressed against the strong ribs, slipped between the ridges with ease. “So damn hot and panting for cum that you can’t even go a day without being touched.”

Bruce shuddered, writhing under the strong hands. His breathing was ragged, harsh in the dim lit room. “Clark,” he begged, pushing up again.

Clark cupped both pecks, pushing them up in a short thrusting motion, even as his hips began pushing down on Bruce’s thighs. “You want them to know. Don’t you? You want everyone to know you’re always one caress away from begging someone to touch you, push you down on that huge desk, and make you take it, don’t you?”

Whining, Bruce pulled harder on the ties. “Please, want ... need ... touch me, please!” he choked out. His face was blazing hot now, from the images the reporter was putting in his head. Bucking his hips as hard as he could, his cock just brushed the soft cotton pants Clark was wearing.

Clark moved forward, and grabbed hold of his shoulders. “Not what I asked,” he said, moving both hands up the muscles. With gentle strokes, he wrapped both hands firmly around Bruce’s straining throat. “I said no touching,” he reprimanded.

Bruce stilled beneath him, jerking minutely. “Please, Clark, sir, please,” he babbled, eyes dark with lust. “Need you, please, Clark, need you so much!”

“You are so desperate, aren’t you?”

Bruce nodded, eyes closing. “Yours, always for you,” he breathed, hips thrusting up against his will.

Clark settled more weight on the prone man, and felt the flush of yet more blood to Bruce’s cock. “I bet you could rub yourself off right like this, couldn’t you?”

Bruce whined, head tossing again. God, but Clark loved teasing this man so much. “No, please, take me, touch me, I need, ah, I need touch, please.”

Clark shook his head, hiding his grin. The sounds Bruce was making, it made his own cock so damn hard. “No, you went out when you were sick. You’re very self sufficient –“

“—no, please, no, don’t, --“

“I think I’ll just set up the framework, and let Mister I Work Alone, finish himself off.” With superspeed, his cleaned off the menthol rub and applied much healthier lubricant to his hand. One hand still around Bruce’s throat, holding him to the bed, he reached down and made a loose fist around the straining member.

Bruce actually sobbed - one gut-wrenching sob from between swollen lips. “I’m sorry, I – I – please, Clark, please--!” he began to thrust into the warm hand, hips erratic. “I’m sorry, please, please touch me, please I need—“

Clark hushed him, stroking the sides of his face. There were tears tracking down his cheeks. “Alright, darling,” he whispered, “I’ll look after you.” His hand tightened around the thrusting cock, and he began to work.

Short, hard pulls mixed in with long strokes down the shaft. Kissed and nibbled the corner of that sharp jaw, even as it moved, gasping his name. Clark couldn’t help the smile that broke onto his face, as he bite and licked his way down the chiselled jaw. Bruce might be a controlling asshole with nearly everything else in his life, but Clark could turn him into this. He could reduce him to a begging mess, pleading for a good pounding, to be used and told what a good job he’d done.

Clark pushed more weight down, pinning Bruce more to the bed. It was a signal to Bruce – “I’ve got you” – which gave Bruce the joy of surrender. He could never move Clark by himself. (Clark very thoroughly checked the bedroom after every fight for certain lead-lined blank spots.)

Bruce could barely move his hips, just twitches, really. Clark pushed his body so deep into the mattress, he couldn’t even lift enough to thrust. Gasping, moaning, he tried to say something, to beg Clark for more, when his lover began to vibrate his hand at the base of his cock. “Ah—ah – Clark!”

“Such a good darling,” Clark whispered in his ear. “Such a well trained cum slut you are – I’m so proud of you.” Bruce began to babble more sounds, words barely making it past his lips. “That’s right, come on, Bruce, you can cum for me, paint my hand with your delectable cum.” He tugged just a little harder on the base of Bruce’s cock, vibration just a tad harder –

Bruce’s body tried to jackknife off the bed, jerking under the onslaught of need. Clark lifted himself up enough that Bruce could thrust properly into the air, gasping out his release. He kept a steady rhythm until nearly the end, when Bruce’s body sank more into the soft bed beneath.

“C’mon, Brucie, you can give me more than that,” he whispered into the near-delirious man’s ear. “One more.”

Bruce tossed his head back and forth. “No, I – I – Clark, I can’t.” But his hips thrust back up into Clark’s fist, trying to find friction. Trying to please Clark.

Clark lowered himself back down, and spread Bruce’s legs apart with his knees. “Oh, yes you can. You’re my very best cum slut, you love to watch me lick you clean just to taste yourself on my lips.” Mouthing at the soft head, Clark suddenly deep-throated Bruce, yanking a scrambled scream from the man’s throat.

The sounds continued, unhindered, as Clark continued to suck, long powerful pulls mixed with gentle laps and caresses. His lover barely made any sense now, thrusting into his mouth with weak thrusts, shaking under his hands. Clark ran soothing hands down Bruce’s thighs, stroking the quivering muscles.

“You’re doing so well,” he gasped, coming up for a look. There were tear tracks down his face, his chest and neck were flushed red with heat and embarrassment, and his hands had long since given up trying to get free. “My beautiful Bruce, doing exactly everything that I want.”

Bruce keened, thrusting weakly.

“One more, Bruce, my favourite slut, my tasty treat. Paint my mouth with your cum,” he said, and sank once more to the hilt.

Bruce moaned, hard, thrusts stuttering. He was tiring fast. He needed help, he needed – “please, Clark,” he mumbled. “...can’t...”

Clark hummed an affirmative sound, and pressed one thumb at the base of Bruce’s cock, holding down on it. A second later, he started to massage faster, using super-speed to hit Bruce’s prostate. The startled garbled noise that broke out of the man was just as beautiful as Clark’s name. Seconds later, another warm spurt of cum landed on his tongue. Clark hummed again, and began sucking harder.

Only after the pants turned to whimpers did Clark raise his head, smiling. Bruce lay spread eagle on the bed, thoroughly debauched, and completely passed out. Clark sank back on his heels, admiring the view. He loved this crazy, stubborn man so much sometimes. It was a pleasure to just watch him sleep, relaxed and sated from Clark’s efforts.

Well, he amended as Bruce started to snore, most times it was a pleasure.

A quick clean up, and fresh blankets saw Bruce curled on his side, half laying on his lover’s chest. Clark settled them down, stroking the greying hairs at Bruce’s temple, smiling softly to himself.


End file.
